


The Red Tornado In: By The Light of The Hanukkah Moon

by Marshmallowmachinegun



Series: The Red Tornado! [6]
Category: DCU (Comics), Green Lantern (Comics), Justice Society of America (Comics), The Flash (Comics), ma hunkel - Fandom, red tornado - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Golden Age, World War II, superhero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 17:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15690483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshmallowmachinegun/pseuds/Marshmallowmachinegun
Summary: The Red Tornado keeps her husband alive in her children's minds for 8 more days during Hanukkah, with the help of the Justice Society.





	1. Like a Big Tornado

_ ‘Nope, not like thunder at all, you’re a tornado!’ He punched her arm like a big brother might, and she was laughing too hard to care that it was right on a bruise. _

_ ‘You came down like a big tornado!’ _

She needed to mop up the spill.

Abigail had been holding a ceramic mug full of coffee when the man in the uniform delivered the telegram. She didn’t even bother trying to hold onto it when the man simply saluted and walked away, it just fell from her grasp like a lead weight and shattered on the carpet by the door.

Her morning had been uneventful thus far. She had gotten the kids fed a nice, hearty breakfast, dressed them in their heavy clothes (no easy feat, as Sisty refused to wear her coat until coaxed with the promise of a new doll), and sent them off into the cold winter morning. Then, she’d made an extra pot of coffee and begun taking stock of what needed to be done before the kids got home. She had planned to have freshly made sufganiyot for them, and the menorah polished and set by the windowsill. Huey had been given the honor of lighting the first night’s candles, an event that she and Henry had always talked about.

Henry.

Abigail wasn’t a crier, she never had been. The day he’d left for Mississippi, she hadn’t shed a single tear; she did up his tie, like always, and kissed his cheek, she said “I love you” and that was it. It had been Hunk, the big softy, who had grabbed her and held her close, telling her how much he would miss her. Maybe he’d known something she hadn’t. Abigail always assumed he would come home - they had survived worse things - he would come home.

But she had been wrong, Henry wasn’t coming home. She was never going to see him again.

Abigail had enough sense to know she shouldn’t be alone right now, she had comforted a lot of women over the past year, there were too many grieving widows these days (is that what she was now? A widow?), and while Abigail was loath to bother others with her problems, this wasn’t something she could process on her own. She should be with her best friend now.

So Abigail dried the few tears that had managed to leak from her eyes, and picked up the broken pieces of beige ceramic by the door. She didn’t care about the stain, she found she didn’t care about much of anything at that moment.

She got dressed as quickly as she could, not bothering with her hair or accessories, it was just the Jibbets’ after all, and they had been friends for years. After putting on a deep blue sweater and black woolen skirt, she tossed on her stockings and made it to the front door before she stepped in the still damp puddle on the carpet.

“Dammit” how could she have forgotten her shoes? She stomped back to her closet and, slipping on her clogs, she was off into the blustery day.

Abigail marched herself into the front hallway of the Jibbets’ building, only to curse again and turn around. She hadn’t even thought of a gift.

She did this several more times, each trip becoming more and more bogged down by things held precariously in her arms - a sweater left behind by Scribbly from the weekend, a casserole dish his mother had loaned her from a potluck, several drawings Huey did for Dinky that he had forgotten. It all accumulated into a massive pile of junk Abigail lugged from her apartment to Jennie’s front door.

Abigail almost couldn’t knock, her arms were so laden down with stuff. But her timid, rabbit like rap got the other woman’s attention. She was still in her dressing gown and slippers.

“Abby…?” She yawned. Was it still that early? Or was she just a perpetually late riser? “What’s going on?”

Abigail must not have had a good poker face, because her friend was immediately awake and looking very concerned. “Abby, hon? What happened? Are you okay”

That shouldn’t have made her eyes mist up, she was tougher than that right?

_ ‘Like a big tornado!’ _

“No…”

 

* * *

 

“Is there some kind of supervillain you could track down? Use the hunt to keep them busy?”

Abigail was sitting in the living room, a warm, thick shawl draped over her shoulders that her friend had insisted she wear when she first came in. She had been worried about Abigail catching a cold, “Look at your clothes dear!” Abby didn’t even notice that she was soaked to the bone from the snow.

That had been about two hours ago and they had been talking nonstop since then. The conversation was practical at first, Jennie mainly telling her what needed to be done at city hall and where to go to talk to someone. But when the subject inevitably turned to the children, Abigail froze again.

She had no idea what to do, or what to say. Huey and Sisty had always been like her, optimistic that Henry would be one of the lucky men who came home. Now that the harsh reality of it all was sinking in, she was left afraid and empty inside.

Abby had very high hopes for this holiday. She was excited to have Huey light the candles on his own, she had been planning a special dinner and games to play. Sisty was finally old enough to play dreidel, and Abby thought it would be fun to teach Dinky to play as well. Hanukkah was also one of the few things Herman and Gus took seriously, and they always read from the Torah and said the blessings in Henry’s absence. They would never have another holiday like that again.

When her friend had suggested maybe not telling the kids right away, that had gotten Abby’s attention. She didn’t like the idea of lying to them, but she hated the idea of ruining their Hanukkah even more.

So Jennie and Abigail began concocting a plot, something to keep the kids distracted and give them the best week of their young lives.

Now they just needed to know what to do.

“I don’t want to put ‘em in danger. I… I just can’t. Not this week. Not this holiday. Not even the small dangers.”

Abigail was grateful now more than ever that Mrs. Jibbet had acclimated herself to her vigilante life, if not, this would have been a lot harder. She had of course balked at the idea at first, but given the circumstances yielded rather quickly, after all, a whirlwind week of crime fighting didn’t sound like much fun to her, but she only knew her son as Dinky Jibbet. Not as a Cyclone Kid. That life, by her own choice, stayed with Abigail.

“So no cracking down on the gangs, I take it.”

Ma shook her head.

“‘sides, Huey ain’t built fer that life an’... whatever it is, it’s gotta bring him into it. I need Red Tornado, but I need my kids. Right now more ‘n ever.”

Jennie reached out and squeezed Abby’s shoulder, smiling woefully at her best friend. She didn’t know much about the world Abigail lived in, but she adapted quickly, and that was better than nothing.

“So make one up.”

Now that was an idea, but Abigail was too distracted to fully appreciate it.

“Whuzzat, hun?”

Taking Abby by her clasped hands, Jennie turned her around, forcing the other woman to pay attention and stay out of her own head.

“Make up a villain, then chase him. Chase him until you’re ready to stop.”

Still confused, Abigail shook her head again.

“What like pretend we’re fightin’ some-”

“Use one of Huey’s.”

“Huey’s?”

“From his stories, Abby. You know he writes about you. And that Green Lantern fellow. Take some bad guy he made up and make him real. Then you can have him do anything, and nobody gets hurt. I’ll help, if you need.”

This sounded like the plot of a radio show, and a massive undertaking that Abigail wasn’t sure she could handle.

“Well…”

Not giving her time to think, she interrupted.

“Does one spring to mind?”

“There’s this guy he’s been havin me fight in his stories. Wears a hood, got more powers than he knows what to do wit’. He just showed me the newest one yesterday. Guy grew twenty stories tall, an I defeated him wit’ my Tornado Plane.”

Jennie stopped short at this “Do you-”

“No I don’t have a Tornado Plane!” Abigail waved her hand over her head, brushing away the very thought.

“But you  _ do _ know someone who can grow twenty stories tall, don’t you?” Abby’s friend was very smart.

“Point taken.” Shoulders slumped, Abigail stood from her chair, “I need ta use yer phone. Got some favors ta call in all ‘a sudden.”

Her hand trembled as she turned the dial for the taxi company. When she got the dispatcher, she said the words she’d been given to remember, and little else was needed. She felt numb. Like none of what was happening was really going on. She watched herself as if from outside, even as she said goodbye to her best friend, as she waited on the stoop for the cab to arrive. Still wrapped in her shawl, feeling lost and somehow defeated.

When Doiby pulled up, he began to give his usual greeting, but saw something was amiss. She silently opened the back door of his cab, and got in.

“Brownstone?” he asked in a concerned tone.

“Brownstone.” she replied flatly. And they were off.

_ ‘Like a big tornado!’ _


	2. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Caperer has struck, and he's kidnapped Scribbly's mother!

Scribbly Jibbet, a perpetually tousle-haired boy of eleven who, in addition to being one hell of an artist, happened to be Huey Hunkel’s best friend in the world came running toward him on the snow-covered road. They had just seen each other at school, so he wasn’t certain what his friend was so excited about that he hadn’t mentioned it in class. Perhaps, he thought, it was a new drawing, given Scribbly was clutching a piece of notebook paper as he ran.

“Huey! Huey! We gotta find the Red Tornado!” he shouted when he got close enough to be heard over the general din of the streets. Huey had just been about to enter his apartment building, and was halfway up the steps when his friend had come booking it.

“Why, what’s goin on, Scrib? Did you see somethin’ again?”

Scribbly, heaving visible breaths from his sprint, simply shoved the piece of paper at Huey, who took it and, looking at the letters, realized it was no art piece.

It was a ransom note.

The letter read, in big blocky print that was sloppily painted in red ink “Bring one zillion dollars to the warehouse on 17th and 8th or else Scribbly’s mom gets it! AND NO BRINGING ANY SUPERHEROES!

Signed, The Caperer”

Huey read it ten, twenty times, disbelieving his own eyes. He had written almost this exact note just last night in his story. How could it be that his best friend was now handing it to him with a real-life missing mother? It… just didn’t make any sense.

“Scrib, did you read my new story?” he asked

“Story? What’s that got to do- we’ve gotta get the Red Tornado, Huey! This Caperer guy’s got my mom! I don’t got a zillion dollars!”

“But… but…” Huey still didn’t understand.

“Just come on!” Scribbly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along as he continued to stammer unintelligibly.

They didn’t have to search for long, as the Red Tornado was outside Hunkel’s Grocery, handing out apples to the local kids from the stand Ma kept in front. Usually the apples cost a nickel apiece, but if the superhero declared them free for children, then free they would be, and Huey didn’t find any problem with that. The Cyclone Kids were there, but their help seemed to be in the form of spinning around as fast as they could, arms outstretched. They then began trying to walk and fell down in the snow, giggling, as dizzy children are wont to do.

“Hyar, Scrib!” the mystery man said, putting down a green apple, “How’s tricks, Huey?”

“Mister Tornado, sir,” Scribbly began, “my mother’s been kidnapped by some kinda supervillain, calls himself the Caperer! He left this note!” the bespectacled boy shoved the thing out in front of himself like it might start biting him at any moment. At the word “kidnapped”, the Cyclones stopped their joyful japery and began paying strict attention.

The hero took one look at the piece of looseleaf, then said “C’mon Kids, time ta go defeat a bad guy! You all shoo along now” Tornado added to the other children who were watching, more than piqued by the goings on. They gave a collective groan of disappointment, but began to disperse.

Red Tornado lifted one hand into the air, and whistled loudly, and as suddenly as anything, a yellow cab was pulling up in front of the group, spraying wet snow as its tires screeched to a halt.

“Heya, Tornado!” shouted a familiar voice from inside the taxi. A funny little man in a derby hat poked his head out of the window, tipping his brim while the familiar rhythm of “Two Bits” sounded from his car horn.

“Doiby!” came the excited cries of recognition from Scribbly, Huey, and the Cyclones.

 

* * *

 

“So lemme get this straight” recounted the caped crimefighter as they zoomed along the busy New York streets toward the warehouse’s location, “You wrote a story on this Caperer fella, and he’s got a different power every night? Scrib, did you have anything to do with this?”

Scribbly was shocked at the accusation “N-no sir, I didn’t see that story yet.”

“But he’s not rea-” Huey started, but he was interrupted when Doiby shouted “We’s here!” and sure enough, they were outside a large, nondescript warehouse near the docks. They could see longshoremen and sailors in the distance, loading and unloading ships and boats with white-dusted crates. There was a big loading door on the front of the building, and next to it, a normal sized door, which was hanging open.

“Looks like we’re expected.” said the Red Tornado.

Creeping inside behind the hero, Huey looked around the darkened room, his eyes slowly adjusting. They were at the top of a short flight of stairs, leading down into what looked for all the world like a maze made of wooden crates. Gazing further along in the building, he saw it continued, with dead ends and branching paths, only one leading to a tower of boxes at the far end of the single-room building. It was stacked like a pyramid, and at its apex sat a chair, and in that chair sat a woman, bound with ropes.

“Mom!” Scribbly cried out, seeing her, and rushing down the stairs past the mystery man and his kid sidekicks, but stopping when he reached the maze’s entrance, unsure of which way to go.

Huey’s attention, however, was on the gangway above Mrs. Jibbet. For there he stood, exactly as Huey had imagined him: a hulking figure in a black suit, white pinstripes, white gloves, an executioner’s hood to cover his face, and a billowing black cape. He even had a red letter C on his bright white necktie, for Caperer. Somehow, some way, Huey’s imagined bad guy had come to life, and was standing upon the catwalk above the tied-up Mrs. Jibbet.

“One false move and the lady’s done for!” shouted the villain.

“Okay, Huey, you said you know this guy-” began Red Tornado in a gruff whisper

“Know him? I- I wrote him.” Huey responded unevenly

“Well what’s his power gonna be tonight?” the mystery man asked

“Yeah, Hue, what’s he got up his sleeve?” asked the girl Cyclone, punching one fist into her other hand.

“I dunno. He… he could have any power, I… I never decided on just one…”

“I’ll jus’ haveta find out fer myself, then!” whispered the Tornado to the children, “I’ll go distract ‘im while you two go untie Mrs. Jibbet. Scrib an Huey, you stay here so’s he thinks we’re obeyin’ his wishes.”

And with that, the three heroes disappeared into the warehouse’s maze of crates, as Scribbly and Huey climbed the short stairs to the entrance once again. From their vantage point, Huey and his friend could see most of the action when Red Tornado swung up onto the catwalk from behind the evildoer, and began engaging him in a bout of fisticuffs. They battled back and forth, while the two Cyclone Kids made their way through the narrow passages that the crates created.

“How do we find Mom?” Dinky asked his partner

“Without gettin lost?” she continued for him. The two always worked well together, like a machine made of two parts. Each always seemed to know what the other was thinking, even as they would fight gangsters, cops or, in this case, supervillains. Dinky pulled on the waistband of his tunic, reaching in to search his pockets for the items he’d brought to tonight’s battle.

“Uhh… I got some snap-snaps-” he held out a handful of the small fireworks.

“Too loud”

“-an a baseball card-” it was a Buddy Hassett, but he didn’t mind sacrificing it if needed.

She shook her head, “Not enough paper”

“...howzabout this chocolate bar?”

“Dink, that’s perfect!”

Sisty grabbed the bar, which had a single bite taken from it, and used it like a piece of chalk, marking the wooden crate to her right with an arrow pointing the way they’d come.

As they weaved through the uneven lines of boxes, she continued to mark their return route, for easy remembrance. Above, and now beyond their sight-lines, her mother continued to fight the Caperer, distracting him so that they could perform the real work of freeing Dinky’s mother. Soon, they reached a point where the boxes no longer were stacked in rows, but now in steps, leading upward. With a last nod to each other, the two children climbed silently up the box tower to Mrs. Jibbet.

Huey jabbed his friend in the side.

“Look!” he said, hopefully loud enough for Scribbly to hear without the combatants above also catching on,  “The Cyclone Kids’re there! They’s untyin yer mom, Scrib!”

Scribbly was speechless, his attention split between his mother and the action above her head. As the Kids untied her, it looked as though The Caperer was about to get the upper hand, but then a sock on his masked jaw sent him flying back onto the metal grating. Children and mom alike were halfway down and out of sight by the time the villain arose, and the Tornado was on top of him, about to make her final blow, when suddenly, a cloud of darkness filled the air around them. It continued to spread outward, like a rolling fog or a very slow explosion.

Sisty, Dinky, and Mrs. Jibbet didn’t see the cloud approaching them, and were caught in its midst just as they reached the floor.

The black cloud’s outer wall came onward still, toward the two boys, and soon was upon them, and they saw no more. But they did hear.

“This is not the last you’ll hear of The Caperer, Red Tornado! From here on, we’re sworn enemies! And that’s a promise!”

As the fog slowly subsided, and the darkness faded to first dim light and then once again day, they Cyclones and Mrs. Jibbet found their way back through the maze using Sisty’s chocolate markings. Red Tornado somehow ended up back at the entrance beside the two boys before the other three did. But soon, they were reunited, and all were hugs and kisses, which embarrassed Scribbly thoroughly in front of the superheroes and his friend, even though they shared in them too. Especially the Cyclones, who must have been very happy to have seen a job well done.

Exiting the building, they found Mr. Dickles waiting for them in his cab, the daylight mostly gone. All the children could talk about on the way home was the adventure they’d just had. All save for Huey, who was mostly silent.

“Whatcha thinkin ‘bout, Hue?” asked the Red Tornado

“I keep wonderin,” Huey had his head on his fist, and he was looking out the window, “how did the Caperer become real in the first place?”

“You said he’s got lots of powers?” came the echoing voice of the mystery man from inside the steel helmet.

He looked over at his hero, eyes narrowed in thought, “Yeah, a different one in each story I wrote.”

“What if one of his powers is to become real?”

Huey pondered on this for a long time. “How do we stop him?” he finally asked.

“Same way we do any villain, Huey,” the defender of justice punched the air, “we beat the tar out of ‘im till he stops bein’ bad.”

And with that, they were at the block Scribbly and Huey lived on. Waving goodbye to the heroes, Huey ran up the stairs to his apartment. He had so much to tell Ma and Sisty about his day.

 

* * *

 

The apartment was dimmed when Huey arrived home. The scent of cooking oil wafted from the kitchen, along with the hushed voices of his mother and uncles. The living room was spotless, as per usual, with the playing cards on the coffee table along with the dreidel.

Sisty came barreling out from the hallway soon after he took his shoes off. She was wearing a dress of deep navy blue, her hair combed neatly and her freckled cheeks scrubbed clean. She was holding Huey’s favorite blue velvet kippah, grinning like a cat. “Ya said you would teach me ta play this year!” She pointed at the table excitedly, “ya better keep ya promise!”

“Clear the way!” Ma shouted from the kitchen a few minutes later, she was holding a platter of freshly made sufganiyot, still hissing from the oil. She set them on the table carefully, mindful of the dishes and flatware already set out by Herman and Gus, whose ears were currently being chewed off by Huey, telling them about their adventures that evening.

The treats were too hot to eat, but that didn’t stop the kids from running over and sniffing them like starving dogs. “Oh for the love of-” Ma laughed and playfully swatted the kids away as she set down another plate of goose liver and matzoh “go play in the living room, I’ll call you when it’s time to eat.”

The dinner table filled up steadily over the next hour, everything from latkes to apple sauce to brisket set and ready to be devoured. But first, they had to light the menorah.

Ma had outdone herself that year, and the candelabra gleamed in the light of the shamash. Huey had never been so nervous, but he had practiced in his room all week and when he held the shamash, he did it almost perfectly.

Huey lit the first candle.


	3. Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Red Tornado foils a bank robbery!

Huey tapped his pencil against his desk, anxious to hurry home and get on with the day. Last night he’d had a taste of a lifestyle he had only dreamed of. He’d only ever imagined himself fighting alongside a superhero, but last night he had rescued his best friend’s mother with the help of the Red Tornado and his companions, the Cyclone Kids. Huey Hunkel was now a bonafide accomplice to the crime fighting trio of Harlem. And on Hanukkah no less!

He thought of himself wearing a costume, not unlike the Red Tornado’s, beating bad guys and searching out dens of crime. He wondered whether the pot he wore was made of some special metal, if it granted super-strength or contained a radio to the police commissioner. That last seemed unlikely, given how much of the superhero’s time was taken up by fighting the cops. Maybe not the commissioner then, but some secret third party, some all-seeing eye who could tell the Tornado when and where villainy was afoot. Maybe  _ he _ could be that third party one day, if he played his cards right. He could keep comprehensive detailed dossiers on every crook in the city, and tell the hero what information he needed to know in the moment. Whenever they fought supervillains, he could explain their powers, and help figure out how to defeat them when new ones arose.

At least, he thought,  _ this _ villain’s powers weren’t new. Not to  _ Huey _ , anyway. He’d had the power to cast darkness like he had the night before in the last story Huey wrote. He’d needed some way to show off Red Tornado’s power of super hearing, and total darkness seemed like the best way to do that. He wasn’t sure if the superhero actually  _ had _ super hearing, but how else could he hear through that helmet of his anyway? If the Caperer stayed true to form, then tonight he might be able to grow very tall, like in the story Huey had written after learning about the ace pilots of the first Great War, or bring life to the unliving, like in that story he’d written for Scribbly’s sleepover. He wasn’t sure  _ how _ they’d handle those ones.

Huey glanced over to where Scribbly sat by the window, still taking notes and paying attention like a good student. How could he just sit there after everything they went through? They had fought a masked villain from a story he had written, a story that was not supposed to come true. Was Huey discovering latent superpowers? Could he bring  _ all _ his stories to life?

‘ _ Gulp. _ ’

He hoped not. The Caperer was one thing, but what about the others he had written? He was lucky the Red Tornado was there to help. 

Huey sat up a bit straighter in his chair, the teacher was looking at him with her hawk eyes and if his creations were coming to life, the last thing he wanted was to incite the wrath of The Ruler, the giant living school supply he’d written a story about several weeks back when Miss Mellon had punished him for daydreaming in class. Besides, he reasoned, the Red Tornado was nowhere to be seen at that moment.  
  


* * *

 

Running as best he could through the snow drifts that covered the Harlem streets, Huey approached his home, excited and delighted to find that his favorite mystery man and his two small sidekicks were already waiting for him outside.

“Huey!” the hero called out when he came close enough to be recognized, “We got another note from the Caperer! Whaddaya suppose he’s up to?”

Huey looked at the piece of paper and, carefully noting that it was in the same hyper-legible red block letters, read on:

“Tonite, I’m robbing the 3rd Mortgage Bank at 5pm on the nose, and ain’t nuthin youse can do to stop me Red Tornado!

Signed, The Caperer”

The Kids were all standing in a circle while the Red Tornado held the second letter in his hands.  They hadn’t expected the fiend to strike again so quickly, but the evidence was staring them right in the face. 

“What do we do?” Huey had been hanging onto the hero’s arm, peeking at the letter with guarded curiosity. A bank robbery seemed quite the spectacular feat, and around the holidays as well! The girl Cyclone stood by her mentor’s leg, leaning against him as she chomped on bubble gum. 

“Best I can figure,” came the formidable figure of the Red Tornado, “we go ta the bank and we wait for ‘im. It’s not five for another hour or so, we got time to prepare a defense.”

“But we don’t know what he can do tonight!” the boy worried, “Last night he had his darkness powers, but it’s gonna be different now.”

The Red Tornado put a gloved hand on his shoulder in a way that felt familiar, and safe. He wasn’t sure how, but he could hear a smile in the hero’s voice as he said

“We’ll figure it out, you, me, and the Kids.”

Running a hand to slick back his pomaded black hair, Huey screwed up his face and asked a question. “Umm. One last thing, Mister Tornado?”

“Yeah, Huey?” his soft, deep tone echoed from inside his helmet with gentle concern.

“Can Scrib come along again?”

 

* * *

 

Almost exactly an hour later, the five of them were being dropped off by Doiby at the Third Mortgage Bank of New York, a small building made of concrete and brick. There was a man in a business suit and felt hat at the door, locking it shut as they approached.

“I’m sorry, bank’s closed for the-” he stopped, mouth agape when he turned and saw who stood behind him.

“Sir, I take it yer the manager of this here bank?” asked Red Tornado

“Yes, Leonard Johnson. I hope you’re not here to-”

“We’re here to keep yer cash from gettin robbed, is what we’re here to do” the caped crimefighter interrupted.

“Nonsense, sir, our vault is brand new, state of the art, and it’s currently locked shut tight.”

Red Tornado held out the Caperer’s letter, and the man took it, reading over the printed scrawl several times before handing it back with an amused smirk on his face. “Mister Tornado, I was just inside, and there was nobody there. Now, the vault and doors are locked. Nobody is getting in without an alarm sounding, and  _ nobody _ is getting past that vault door.”

“Mister, you don’t know this villain!” piped up Huey, who’d had quite enough of the obstacle that was Leonard Johnson, “He could be in there  _ right now _ for all you know, stealin all yer money, an’ yer sittin here wit yer head so swole by security ya can’t see we’re tryin ta help ya!”

Before the man could respond to the boy, Red Tornado stepped forward, and placed a firm, gloved hand on Mr. Johnson’s shoulder, pressing him back into the door “This villain’s got more powers than a spider’s got legs, and if you wanna protect your bank’s money, you’ll listen to the boy, open that door up, an let us inside to protect it!”

Knowing when he was defeated, the bank manager gave a mumbled assent, and opened the front door, letting the group into the darkened bank. Gesturing past the polished wooden countertop toward the large round metal door in the back of the building, he said “As you can see, the vault is quite secure.”

“Sure, the door is. But what about the money  _ inside _ ?” asked the masked hero, pushing gently but surely on the manager’s back, urging him forward.

“Sir, it requires a combination known only to  _ me _ to open, and-”

“So open it, and let’s find out if everything’s okay! If it is, we’ll leave, but if  _ not _ …”

He walked meekly to the vault door and, making sure nobody was looking at the dial, put in the combination that undid the lock. Pulling at the large lever, the door swung open, revealing-

“As you can see, the money is quite alright.” he said, indicating the bags of cash and coin stacked on the floor, each in its proper place.

“Welp, color me red” said the Tornado, “I guess we was plum wrong. If you wanna close that ol’ vault door now, we’ll be on our- wait!”

He did a double-take. One of the bags of money had disappeared, right from where it had sat in the vault. As the group watched, another vanished, and another, at regular intervals, almost as if they had planned to just up and abscond with themselves at a specified time. Mr. Johnson clutched at his hair, and shouted “Do something, Tornado! The money is disappearing!”

“I can’t fight what I can’t see!” shouted the caped champion of justice as he stood, helplessly watching another bag of money disappear. He turned his pot-covered head toward Huey and asked “Whaddaya think’s goin on, Hue? Is he teleportin’ ‘em away somehows?”

Huey stepped forward, a hand on his chin, and examined the scene as more bags vanished, one after the other. His head swirled with ideas - teleportation was possible, but so were a myriad of other powers. The trick was to figure out which specific one the Caperer was using tonight, the foiling of his plot could follow after. As one whole corner of the vault was cleared, he had a thought. He sidled up to the superhero and, leaning in close, motioned for him to do the same, and he bent down to hear Huey’s whisper.

“I think he might be invisible. Jus’ walkin past us like nothin while we scratch our heads. He might have the power to make himself and other stuff invisible tonight.”

Red Tornado motioned to his two sidekicks, and to Scribbly as well, though he didn’t see the gesture, being wrapped up in watching the vault. The two harlequinesque children joined Huey and the Tornado in their huddle, and he asked them whether they could think of any way to detect an invisible man.

The boy Cyclone rifled through his pockets, coming up with a bag full of marbles, and the girl said “That’s perfect!” as Red Tornado grabbed them and, without a moment’s hesitation, threw the lot on the floor of the vault.

Almost instantly, a figure in a pointed black hood fell to the floor, his pinstripe suit and red “C” necktie giving him away immediately as the Caperer. He was tangled in his eponymous cape just then, and the heroes didn’t waste the opportunity, rushing over to the vault entrance to apprehend him. Unfortunately, the same trick they’d used to uncover the invisible villain created an obstacle for the trio as well, and they had to be careful with their steps lest they fall all over one another. That carefulness gave the Caperer time to disengage himself from his cloak, and rise shakily to his feet. 

“You think I’m got, Red Tomato,” he shouted in his carnival barker’s voice, “but you and your little Cyclone tots can’t catch me!”

The heroes had just made it to their quarry, and assumed attack formation - Tornado in front and Cyclones flanking. The massive champion of goodness squared off with his opponent and replied loudly, “Yer Invisible Man routine ain’t gonna play no more, Caperer, we gotcher number now!”

The Caperer threw back his head, then, and laughed. “Invisible, Red? Close, but no cigar!”

The Red Tornado threw a heavy haymaker at the once-imaginary burglar, but it flew past the cloth of his hood without so much as a sound. Unperturbed, he jabbed his left at the man’s midsection, only to find the Caperer had turned entirely out of the way, twisting in place so as not to slip upon any more marbles, yet completely dodging the blow. One of the Cyclone Kids - the girl one - tried to make for his leg, but when she leaped, she was suddenly on the other side of him, face-down on the floor, his leg up in the air.

Huey hadn’t even seen the bad guy move once.

Suddenly the Tornado was laying it on like his namesake, throwing punch after devastating punch like a whirlwind, but not a one of them connecting, each a “whiff” of air and an imperceptible movement from their intended target. The Cyclones kept up their end of the attack, but to similar effect, throwing themselves over and over at a villain who could, seemingly, not be touched. Huey thought fast. He knew the super-team couldn’t keep this going for long, and he and Scribbly would have to figure something out in that short amount of time.

Speaking of whom, his bespectacled pal was grabbing his shoulder, silently indicating something. In front of the boys a short trail of paper money flitted in the light wind coming through the opened door, and it lead back outside. The two friends then hatched their plan wordlessly, through a quick series of gestures and facial expressions, the general tone of which was “Get the money!”

Being no longer content to wait out the action, the boys lit out, Huey taking Scribbly by the arm and kicking the entrance gate gingerly with his foot. They picked up each bill as they saw them, following the cash outside, gaining fistfuls of the stuff before they were through.

In the cold air, the boys shivered, but they kept searching, grabbing up handfuls of the now-dampened dollar bills as they followed the trail to its hopeful source. And they didn’t have long to look, either. Just around the corner, piled neatly against the side wall of the bank in the alleyway, were the stolen bags of lucre. They counted, and the number seemed right for what they had seen disappear from the vault a few minutes earlier. Evidently, Huey thought, the Caperer was fast enough to be unseen as he ran, but not so fast he could get the money far from the scene of the crime.

“Gosh darn!” he said, as his friend began pushing against him, “What’s up, Scrib?”

Scribbly pressed Huey further back towards the bank, “Go, get Mr. Johnson! I’ll watch the money! This is the  _ perfect  _ way to foil the Caperer’s plan!”

Huey was nervous about leaving Scribbly alone. Who knew what the Caperer had planned? But the longer he stood there, the more his pal shoved him away, “Don’t stand there like a bump on a pickle, get goin!”

Huey ran, tripping over his feet several times on the way back, but he made it in one piece. The battle still raged on, with the Red Tornado punching and kicking wildly at an opponent who seemed to barely notice, ducking and dodging with such ease he may as well have been standing still. The Caperer laughed cruelly as the three heroes struggled to keep up with him.

“You may be fast Tornado!” The Caperer vanished again, only to reappear an instant later at the back of the vault, ready to throw another punch “but you’re not fast eno-” The robber never got to finish his quip, because immediately, as he appeared in front of the hero for his blow, he had the girl cyclone launched at his face by Red Tornado. Each of his young wards had been in his hands, and he had thrown them in the instant the villain vanished to run forward for his attack. The boy Cyclone wound up on his chest, clinging to his jacket with one tiny hand while punching his throat with the other. The girl Cyclone was boxing his ears through his hood and screaming like a banshee. 

Huey grabbed the hem of the bank manager’s jacket, and gave a tug to get his attention. He turned for a moment, barely acknowledging the kid, but the handful of bills he was waving with his other hand yanked the man’s attention back very quickly.

“Where’d you find that?” he whispered loudly at Huey.

“Follow me, I’ll show ya!” Huey said, waving his hand and walking away as calmly as he could, hoping not to draw the attention of the villain to their scheme.

Mr. Johnson followed Huey out the door, collecting every last fluttering note he could grasp along his way as they blew about in the subtle evening winds. Around the front of the building and to the alley, he trailed the boy through the mid-December snow, then exclaiming “The money!” as his eyes lit upon the pile of bags. Counting them, he found ten in total. “Wonderful!” he gushed, and grasped Huey’s hand, shaking it before pulling out of it the bills he had been collecting, to the kid’s disappointment.

“Quickly, children, let’s move these back inside the bank, we’ll hide them in my office till that vile man is caught or killed by your friend - or the authorities I’ve summoned with the bank’s secret alarm.”

“Wasn’t there eleven here before, Scrib?” Huey asked his friend in a low tone as the gentleman prattled on.

Scribbly kicked a shoe into the stone of the street, and admitted with a sheepish grin “I mighta let a coupla homeless guys take one…”

Huey smiled back as he picked up one of the remaining bags to carry inside as the manager had instructed when he suddenly realized the full extent of what the man had said to him. He’d summoned the authorities.

That meant the cops.

The ones that hated Red Tornado.

He dropped the bag of cash, much to the consternation of Mr. Johnson, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him back into the bank, leaping over the countertop on his way (lucky he’d had so much practice doing that very thing at his mother’s grocery store countless times), and sliding to a stop in front of the vault’s entrance.

“CHEESE IT!” he shouted at his heroes and villain alike as they suddenly stopped their battle to stare at him “IT’S THE FUZZ!”

They all stood in tableau for a moment, frozen there mid-battle - Red Tornado holding a Cyclone in each arm, each Cyclone in midst of a fierce blow aimed at the Caperer, him bent halfway between where he’d been when they aimed for him and where he’d be when they got there. Huey almost had time to find it funny, before the spell was broken, and all four collapsed upon themselves in a mad scatter for the vault door over the top of the still-extant marble peril. The Tornado threw himself down on the ground, and allowed the two little ones to clamber their way toward the door on his back, while the Caperer devised to simply roll himself along, using the marbles as casters, at such speed as to outweigh the ludicrous inefficiency of his ambulatory method. He reached the door first, only to find his leg held fast by the Tornado!

“Try speedin yer way outta this!” the hero said in his heavy New York brogue.

The two Cyclone Kids turned to look at what their mentor had done, just in time to miss the vault door closing on their backs.

Huey stared in wide-eyed amazement. The bank’s manager Mr. Johnson had just closed the vault on the lot of them, heroes, villain, one and all. Huey was outraged, he shouted, his voice breaking with rage and confusion, “How  _ could _ you?” 

Mr. Johnson sputtered indignantly at the child, “How could I what? Now we got the guy, we got the money, we just wait till the authorities arrive and sort everything out, like we should have done from the beginning.” He then took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped the sweat from his lined brow. 

“When they find out who’s in there, never mind the Caperer-”

The bank manager made a shushing noise, waving off Huey’s anger like a cobweb.

“The whom?” he said, only half-listening in that way adults had.

Huey jumped up and down out of pure frustration, punctuating his words with the clack of his leather-soled shoes against the smooth floor, “The Caperer! The Caperer! The-”

“The Caperer!” Scribbly’s voice rang out in the small space of the bank, and the two arguing people looked first at him, then at what his shaking arm was pointing toward: The Caperer’s half-formed body emerging somehow out of the heavy steel vault door. He was blurred somewhat, his pinstripes washing together into a solid gray, and the “C” on his tie no more than a streak of red at his chest height, but there he was, stepping through the door with an odd slowness, as if it were difficult somehow to do.

Finally, both the supervillain’s feet stood solid upon the floor, and the blurriness was gone. He shook his cowled head, and then aimed it directly at Huey, unseen eyes burning into the child. He announced:

“You almost got me tonight, but it looks like I get the last laugh! Better luck tomorrow, if your precious Tomato is still around to try and catch me!”

He gave a laugh then, of exactly the sort one would expect a supervillain to give upon his success, and it echoed throughout the bank long moments after he had disappeared, his tremendous speed carrying him heaven-knew-where.

The bank manager gave a small cough, straightening out his tie nervously.

“Well, at least the  _ money _ is-”

Immediately the boys were at his figurative throat, absolutely livid that the man would even imply the situation was better. “Money nothin!” Huey cried, “We gotta get the Tornado outta there before the cops get here!”

“Now young man-”

“ _ DON’T YOU ‘YOUNG MAN’ HIM YA BIG DUMMY! _ ” came the muffled voice of the Red Tornado from within the vault, “ _ HUEY, SCRIB, LISTEN TO ME GOOD NOW! YOUSE TWO HIGHTAIL IT BACK TO THE CAB AN TELL DOIBY TO CALL IN A CODE BLUE YA HEAR?! A CODE BLUE! _ ”

Needing no further prompting from the hero, the two boys ran like hell for the front door, practically leapt back inside the taxi, and before their cabbie friend could even ask where their other companions were, they were shouting “Drive!” and “Cops is comin!” and “Code Blue, Doiby! Code Blue!”. He instantly put his foot to the floor, and the car shot off into the night, just as police sirens approached from the distance. Once they were a block or two away, he slowed to traffic speeds and pulled out the radio he kept underneath the dash, speaking into it as calmly as you please with a few mumbled words before putting it away.

“Dun youse worry any, kids. Help’s on the way.”

 

* * *

 

Inside the vault, Sisty was getting worried. She knew the police of Harlem didn’t take kindly to her or her mother’s alter-egos, and there was little they could do to escape without crazy super-powers like the ones the Caperer had used to take his leave a few minutes before. Huey and Scribbly would be safe with Doiby, but she wasn’t so sure about her own prospects in that moment. She looked up at her mother, who seemed so calm, so collected, like she knew exactly what to do in situations like these, and resolved to steel herself the same way. Dinky was pacing about the vault, pocketing his marbles and, since Ma wasn’t looking, the occasional loose silver dollar. His flashlight provided the only source of illumination, and his constant back-and-forth made the shadows swing wildly there in the strong-room.

Soon, Sisty heard voices outside the vault again, and though they were indistinct, she could tell they weren’t her brother or his artistic friend. Some clicks then, and the large door began opening. Dinky aimed his light as if it were a weapon of some sort, while Ma took a single sharp breath in and visibly flexed underneath her costume, her gloved hand pulling something from beneath her waistband. She was getting ready for something big. The hatch swung fully open, and Sisty saw a devastatingly frightening image on the other side: an entire squadron of police officers, guns drawn, aimed directly at her mother.

Before she could react, the Red Tornado was in action, striding forward and holding up her hand. She was grasping something. A piece of paper, small as a baseball card. “Officers!” she shouted in her clearest Tornado-voice, “I have here in my hand an official Justice Society of America Honorary Lifetime Membership card with me own name here on it, Tha Red Tornado, as youse can see all right an proper I’m an official G-Man here on official G-Man business an I’m’a need yer kindly assistance in lowerin yer firearms forthwith!” she pronounced “official” every time with an extra-long “O” sound, rendering it something like “ _ OH _ -fish-ul” in her affected Red Tornado accent.

Cocking back the hammer on his pistol, the lead officer pushed it closer toward the hero. “You ain’t nothin but a criminal, Tornado, and we gonna take you in, and those two hellions of yers.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” came a strangely calm voice from behind the crowd of police.

“S-s-sir, it’s-” stammered out one cop nearest the man who’d spoken

“No need for an introduction,” said the wryly smiling face of the black-haired man, walking through the throng, cops parting before him like the Red Sea before Moses, “I’m pretty famous.”

The lead policeman, a captain named Millsford, turned toward the new superhero and pointed his gun directly at the S on his chest.

“You’ll be takin this criminal over my dead body, super or no.” he said, his voice shaking nearly as much as his hands.

For his part, the Man of Tomorrow simply grasped the gun around its barrel and squeezed. There was a muffled bang, and smoke rose from his fist. When he opened his hand, a twisted wreck of metal remained where a moment before there had been an 8-shooter revolver. He calmly reached into the band of his belt then, as if nothing odd had occurred, and pulled out a small piece of paper, about the size of a baseball card.

“I believe the Tornado showed you a card not unlike this one, which denotes my own status as a lifetime honorary member of the Justice Society of America? They were quite clear in their G-Man status. I’ll ask you to step aside, just once, officers.” He gazed around the room, folding his arms over his chest in that Way he had. “Just. Once.”

As if ordered to by the President himself, to a man the cops lowered their guns, even, to his credit, Captain Millsford, and took a long step back, creating a passage for the Red Tornado and her sidekicks. The blue-suited man took Sisty in his arms, and Ma did likewise with Dinky. Together the two of them walked out of the bank and into the dim light of the New York night, officers staring, following with their eyes but unmoving.

“Can I give you three a lift?” he asked when they were out of earshot of the police.

“How’re ya gonna- oh yeah.” came Ma’s reply, and she shrugged her massive shoulders, taking Sisty from the other superhero. He wrapped his comparatively thin arms around her, and took one tremendous leap, pulling the quartet impossibly into the sky. They flew through the air in what passes for silence when one is holding two children excited to have bested both a supervillain and the metropolitan police on the same night they got to travel home via jumping strongman. When they landed on the block both the Hunkels and Jibbets called home, it was softly, and without a sound save for the gentle crunch of snow beneath the man’s feet.

Doiby hadn’t even made it there with Huey and Scribbly, yet.

 

* * *

 

Huey walked away from the kitchen with slightly sore fingers. He had been told the latkes were too hot to eat, and to wait “a goshdarn minute” by Ma, but as soon as she turned her back, he made to grab one, and his little fingertips were immediately scalded.

Luckily Ma didn’t believe in hitting like some of Huey’s friends’ parents did, so he didn’t have to deal with a spanking on top of a hurt hand. He had instead been given a chunk of ice wrapped in a damp dishtowel. He sulked back to the couch beside Gus, who was flipping through the sports pages after also being banished from the kitchen. Ma had chased him out a while ago, after he’d been caught stealing a piece of oven-fresh challah bread. 

“Ya want us to deal you in for next round?” Herman was sitting on the floor with Sisty, playing a rousing game of War that his sister was clearly winning. The small girl was plopped down on a big pillow, munching victoriously on chocolate gelt. “Tell us more about the fight Huey!” She wiped her chocolate stained mouth with the back of her hand. “I wanna hear more about the Coopersmith or whateva.” 

“The Caperer!” His heart jumped back to life at the mention of his nemesis, “That guy is a real pain, it turns out!” Huey threw his arms up in exasperation “Red Tornada almost got caught by the pigs” that immediately got everyone’s attention “but he got away - I hope.” 

“You hope?” Gus put down his paper “I hope so too, I’d hate to see ya lose your favorite hero.” 

Sisty went back to the cards, attempting to cut the deck but mainly just making a mess. “I’m sure Tornado is alright Huey, he probably had an ace up his sleeve somewheres.” 

“Aww,” Huey sank from the couch to the floor, accepting the cards his younger sister handed him “You right Sisty, I know he’s okay, Doiby said he was fine.” Herman patted Huey’s shoulder, offering to let him pick the next game in an effort to keep his spirits up. He picked Old Maid. 

The apartment stayed quiet for a bit, just the sounds of Gus’ paper rustling and Ma humming while she stirred and tasted and seasoned the foods cooking in the kitchen. Huey had been told by Scribbly that during Hanukkah, they never ate dinner before lighting the candles. They almost had a fight when Huey pointed out that it was harder to wait for dinner when Ma was making it, but Scribbly rescinded with rueful agreement. Mrs. Jibbet was a wonderful woman, but nobody cooked like Ma. 

“He had them two little pygmies with ‘im too” Huey chuckled, attempting to reignite the conversation.

Sisty took the bait, and swam with it “Oh! Tha Cyclone Kids! I love those guys! They’s even better than the Red Tornado!”

“Better?” Huey was aghast at such an affront, “Not on your life they ain’t! They’re okaaay, but  _ nobody’s _ as cool as the Red Tornado!”

Sisty shrugged her shoulders, her hands waving out in either direction “I don’t know what that word means, Huey”

He wasn’t normally so impatient with his sister’s ignorance of the modern  _ parlance _ , owing to her being so small and uncultured a child, but here she was elevating a couple of nobody street urchins above the best hero Huey had ever heard of, so when he stuttered out a flustered “It means, I dunno, really good.  _ Better _ than good.” Ma was quick to defuse the situation.

“When I was yer age,” she said, carrying out the kugel and setting it on the table, “we used ta say things was ‘tha bee’s knees’, you kids ever hear that one? ‘Tha bee’s knees’?” she ruffled Huey’s hair.

“ _ Maaaaa _ .” he said, fixing his head,  “You are the least cool person  _ ever _ .”

 

* * *

 

Herman handed Huey the shamash and the book of matches they had been using for quite some time. They were from a hotel in Coney Island that his father and mother had stayed in. Ever since Pop had left for the war, Ma used them sparingly. She saved almost everything of sentimental value, and the matchbook was just a piece of a much larger collection. They were the same matches Huey’s father used to light the menorah their last Hanukkah together. 

Huey looked behind him at his small family, Amelia was up in Ma’s arms like a parrot, smiling wide enough to show her gapped teeth. Ma beamed with pride, nodding at him and the things he held. Taking a deep breath, he struck the match, and began the blessing.

The shamash flickered brilliantly in the dim room, casting wide shadows as Huey lifted the smooth wax candle, careful not to drip wax on the candelabrum, or the small wooden table set in front of their window. 

He felt much more confident than he did the night before, despite not getting to practice much before the event. Hearing them quietly reply “amen” with the same quiet reverence they gave Henry quelled any fears he had. 

Huey lit the second candle.


	4. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Caperer threatens to ruin Winter for all the kids in town!

Scribbly Jibbet wasn’t normally the type of kid to be surrounded by his peers, regaling them with tall tales of heroism and adventure - he generally left that sort of thing to his best friend Huey Hunkel, a somewhat old-fashioned boy of 11 who dressed like it was still the 30s, what with his tailored suits and his knickerbocker pants. Scribbly wore slacks and button-downs as well, but that was a side-effect of his after-school job at the Despatch paper - he never had the time to go home and change clothes between class and work, so he wore his business attire everywhere he went. He felt it made him look more adult anyway, and what self-respecting pre-teen wouldn’t want to be taken for a grownup in a given situation? Today, given the large drifts of snow everywhere, the both of them were covered up in large winter coats and scarves. In any event, it was generally Huey who told the stories, and Scribbly who drew pictures for everybody - thus the clever nickname.

This particular Wednesday, though, things were different, swapped around as it were, with Scrib being the one to regale their classmates this recess period with the tales of their recent adventures, and Huey showing off his drawings of Red Tornado and The Caperer battling. They weren’t quite up to the standard that Scribbly generally set with his own drawings, but they got the point across well enough: the red-and-yellow-suited hero duking it out with a man in a pinstripe suit, red “C” on his tie and cape, and an executioner’s hood covering his surely-scarred or otherwise deformed face. The evil man always lost in Huey’s drawings, despite so far having only succeeded in his plots in reality.

The kids circling them on the snowy playground had put aside their sleds and snowmen and other wintry japes to hear tell of their favorite local champion’s latest triumphs, but when Scribbly reached the part where he explained that the villain had come first from the imagination of his friend, and only later attained a state of lifehood, come to torment his creator in various fiendish ways, the others seemed to balk at the very idea.

“Oh, go on, tell me another one.” said Lucille Baumgartner, a girl of 8 with long, straight pigtails in her black, brushlike hair.

“The Caperer? Who’d name hisself that, much less a guy with super powers!” exclaimed Buck Reynolds, the shrewd boy who sat next to Scribbly in class.

“And whycome he got a million powers, Scrib?” came the response from Eli Becker, the son of the local dentist, “Can’t ya pick jus’ one if yer gonna tell tales? It’d make it more believable.”

“But he’s _not_ tellin tales, you guys!” Huey piped up, wounded by their lack of credulity, “I saw it all happen with me own two eyes!”

“ _I_ believe you, Scribbly.” said Jennifer Powers, a redheaded girl who Scribbly was pretty sure was sweet on him.

“Well I don’t buy _none_ of it, an’ yer gonna gimme a nickel fer lyin’ else I’m gonna lick ya!” This last was Skeeter O'Reilly, a tough boy of twelve who often shook down the other kids for their pocket change. Scribbly wasn’t apt to give him a nickel, and his honor was at stake besides. With Huey there, the two of them just might be able to get the upper hand in a fight, so long as Skeeter’s friends didn’t show up.

“I ain’t lyin!” Scribbly said, planting his feet on the packed-snow ground, and preparing for trouble, “An’ yer ain’t gettin no nickels outta me, Skeeter!”

The taller, more muscular boy advanced on Scribbly, making a fist with his right hand, but before he could use it, he was struck in the back of the head by an expertly-aimed snowball, which crashed and sprayed cold white powder all over his neck and jacket. Huey stood some ten feet away, already prepared with another ball.

“Get on outta here wit’ yerself, ya lunkhead!” he shouted at the bully, but just then, another snowball came flying in from the side and struck Huey in his gut. It was Eli Becker, who then shouted “SNOWBALL FIGHT!” at the top of his lungs, prompting all the kids to run off in various directions, picking up handfuls of snow along their way, hurling them at the nearest other child with abandon. Lost was the argument between Scribbly and Skeeter now, amidst the all-sides onslaught which ensued.

Huey and Scribbly ran behind the protective metal of the schoolyard slide, pelted by packed spheres of snow along the way, followed closely by Jennifer, and the three of them quickly started stockpiling snowballs for strategic throwing. First one, then another kid who attempted to rush the underside of the slide was met with a wall of fire, the three of them aiming especially for their unguarded faces so as to ward them off more effectively. One group who were stationed behind a large tire had unhindered access to the trio’s backs, but they were far enough away that only one in ten or so of their lobbed snow bombs managed to hit their targets, while the rest plopped harmlessly in the no man’s land that had formed in the main part of the playground.

Eli was relatively safe behind a large snow drift that sat where the teeter-totter normally stood, and pelted anybody who was unlucky enough to be running by, while Buck and his friends had holed up on the merry-go-round, spinning it about slowly such that none could get at them from any side without being assaulted by the whole gang. Skeeter, meanwhile, had co-opted a dugout made by some younger kids for their snowman building, and was quickly disassembling the icy effigies for cannon fodder, much to the small ones’ dismay.

“We gotta take down that O’Reilly kid.” said Jennifer matter-of-factly, and the two boys nodded to her in agreement.

Taking an armful of snowballs, Huey said “I should be the bait. I’ll run up to the front of his hideout and start beanin’ him wit’ as many snowballs as I can, while you” he indicated Scribbly, ”circle around behind him. Jennifer, you stay here and keep up the longshots, so’s he thinks we’s all still here until it’s too late.”

It was as solid a plan as any Scribbly or Jennifer had devised, and so they went with it. The boys began by grabbing up armfuls of snowballs, as quickly as they and their companion could pack them, and soon lit out on their mission, Huey to the front with cover fire from Jennifer, and Scribbly circling around the no man’s land to ambush their quarry on the other side.

Running as fast as he could in the deep snow, Scribbly ducked under the heavy fire that came his way from all sides. He managed to avoid most of the frosty missiles, only occasionally being pelted in the jacket or leg by stray fire. He was halfway around the playground, just a hundred feet or so from his assigned staging area, when disaster struck, in the form of a hidden rock beneath the cold white powder that covered the ground. He tripped, and fell face-first into the snow, his glasses flying off in a direction which, ironically, he could not see without them.

Scribbly scrambled in the wet chill to find his glasses, his armfuls of snowballs long-since forgotten, but to no avail - they were good and gone, and it might take him whole minutes to locate the pair again.

In the meantime, Huey, oblivious to the plight of his friend and comrade in arms, continued his brazen advance, packed ice flying into and past him from every direction. Fortunately, Jennifer was keeping up her end of the plan, and beaned anybody so foolish as to show his head long enough for her to aim and fire, but he was assaulted by the balls of snow nonetheless, his long, heavy wool coat granting him some immunity to their cold, wet effects.

He trudged through the thick snow under the constant fire, heading directly, as planned, for Skeeter’s stolen base. As he approached, he saw the older boy’s head pop up, his inside-out fedora hat cut so it resembled a crown upon his red-haired pate, pinned on badges shining in the early noontime light reflected off the white of the ground, and Huey aimed a largish snowball from his collection at that very cap.

“You comin’ at me, Stunkel?!” shouted the boy, ducking out of the way just in time, “Yer gonna haveta do better’n that if ya wanna save yerself a lickin’!”

Recalling the cowboy novels he’d read, Huey yelled back while lobbing another ice bomb “That’s right, Skeeter! I’m callin’ you out!”

It went long, and missed by several feet. The other boy jumped up into view, arm cocked at the ready with another snowball for the throwing. Huey looked behind him, expecting to see Scribbly sneaking up behind for the attack, but was dismayed to see instead Georgie Peters, Louie Smythe, and Tubby O’Rourke, Skeeter’s three best friends, coming up from out of their shelter, holding snowballs of their own.

“Ready boys?!” Skeeter shouted, “FIRE!”

 

* * *

 

Huey stomped off the crushed, muddy snow on his boots before pulling them from his feet. He was chilled to the bones and desperately needed to change. Huey was a nimble child, but the roads and sidewalk were slippery and led to several falls on the trek home, much to the delight of the neighborhood kids who saw.

He shivered hard and warmed his hands over the heater, hoping to regain the use of his fingers. His belly grumbled loudly, and although he didn’t want to leave the warmth of the living room, he would need to eat soon.

After a change of clothes and a nice pair of woolen socks, he padded on into their small kitchen, and was greeted with a note on the icebox. Apparently Ma was at Scribbly’s place and he had to check up on Gus and Herman. A small P.S on the bottom of the note though, lifted his spirits, as it promised a slice of _babka_ waiting for him in the oven. There was also a pan of cocoa to be warmed up for him and Scribbly.

Huey immediately felt excited, he had only just begun to be trusted with the stove, and the idea of getting to use it alone was thrilling. The only thing that would make this better was sharing it with his bespectacled best pal.

He placed his winter boots beside the heater to dry, as well as his coat, before heading downstairs. Although he had no plans to leave tonight, he wanted to be ready, just in case.

Just in case the Red Tornado came calling again.

Huey knew it was silly to get his hopes up, what were the odds of the Caperer striking three nights in a row? Besides, Red Tornado was a big time hero, there were other people much more qualified to help. Still, the thought thrilled him to no end. The villain _said_ he would be back.

The store was almost empty, nobody was waiting in line and only a young woman with a small child were picking up supplies. The snow had kept a lot of customers away the last couple days. The woman held steadfastly onto her toddler’s hand so they couldn’t wander off. The kid was bundled up in so many layers they looked like a fluffy little egg. 

The woman politely declined Herman’s offer of helping her carry the paper bag, and wished them both a _“Chag Sameach_ ” before taking her leave. Huey’s two uncles echoed her goodbye as she left with a jingle of the bell.

“Heya Huey” Gus ruffled his hair in greeting, knowing full well it bothered him “ _chag sameach_ little one!” Now it was Herman’s turn to ruin his carefully crafted tresses, making him look more like a porcupine than the shrewd businessman he was going for.

“Happy Hanukkah” Huey groaned and smoothed his black locks back down, leaving no cowlick untamed “Ma wanted me ta check the store, how’sit goin’?”

Gus jabbed his thumb at the door, “It’s goin’ Huey, notta soul in sight all darn day.” The streets looked bare and empty, only children on sleds, and playing in the snow drifts occupied the neighborhood.

“Why aren’t ya outside playin’ with Scrib? Looks like sleigh ridin’ weather” Herman pulled up a stool for Huey to sit on and patted the wooden top invitingly. “Usually you two go together everywhere, everythin’ okay?”

Huey sat down heavily, resting his chin on his palms. “Aww, that darn Skeeter O'Reilly creamed me an’ Scrib atta snowball fight today ‘n now we’s disgraced in the eyes of our peers!”

Herman passed Huey a candy bar from the shelf above with a sympathetic glance “Ah, kid, you ain’t-”

“Disgraced!” Huey yelled, slapping his knees loudly before accepting the candy bar with a much quieter “thank you.”

Gus patted Huey on the shoulder, consoling him while he munched on the chocolate. “Don’t worry kid, yer ship will come in soon enough.” Herman chimed in right after. “Yeah Hue, you’s a smart boy, you an’ Scrib will win back yer friends.”

Gus elbowed Herman in his large stomach knowingly. “Speakin’ o’ which, me n’ Gus gotta good tip onna horse at the track...”

Huey knew the drill by now, and put out his hand expectantly, Herman chuckled and pulled out a nice crisp dollar bill. “Like I said, a smart kid, we win this an’ the whole lotta ye’s gettin’ gifts!”

Gus laughed heartily and added a second dollar to Huey’s first with an impish grin. “We’ll even get Ma a new hat!”

Huey laughed and pocketed the money. “Make sure Ma don’t see ya-”

The sudden loud bang of the door blowing open stopped all of them cold.

Gus quickly jumped in front of Huey while Herman grabbed the nearest large item - a salami wrapped in paper - and held it aloft like a ball player about to hit a home run.

But there was no intruder, no burglar or fiend to be had, just a small wooden sled with an equally small snowman atop it. Around its neck was a red scarf and hanging by a cord was an envelope.

Huey moved to get up, but Gus held his hand firmly on his shoulder, keeping him in place. Herman approached the offending icy golem slowly, salami still clutched in his hand. He snagged the letter from the cord and brought it back behind the counter.

Written in red ink was Huey’s name, alongside Scribbly’s. The blocky script undoubtedly belonged to one man.

“The Caperer!” They all said in unison. Herman dropped the salami and ripped open the letter carefully, yet quick as a flash, and read the words aloud.

“So you think you got the upper hand eh? Well I’m feeling hot tonite! So hot I’m on fire! And when I reach my max, I’m gonna use it to melt all of the snow in town so you kiddies won’t have no more fun forever! You thought I was tough before? You ain’t seen nothing yet! By 7 tonite, all that white stuff is going bye-bye!

If you got the guts, meet me at Mount Morris Park, I’ll be waiting!

Signed,

The Caperer

P.S. Don’t you worry about your mittens Tornado, I’ll keep you plenty warm!”

There was another sound, a rush of wind and a small splash, and the three of them were shocked to discover the little snowman had melted into a puddle. Its festive scarf and hat singed from flames.

Huey’s heart was threatening to beat its way out of his chest. He almost knocked poor Gus over jumping from where he still sat. “I gotta finds Red Tornado! And Scribbly!”

Herman looked at the mess by the door worriedly. “Maybe you should sit this one out Huey, he-”

“No!” The loud shout echoed through the store and startled both of his uncles, “No ways! I ain’t gonna be disgraced no mores! Youse guys stay here and wait! If I needs ya, I’ll calls!”

Gus grabbed his hat and scarf from under the counter, wrapping the thick wool around Huey’s neck until only his eyes poked out. His winter coat was still damp, so Herman lent him his. He looked a little silly, but he would be warm for now.

“Good luck kid, we’ll be rootin’ for ya!”

Huey was off.

 

* * *

 

The bottle broke over the head of the man, cushioned by the police officer’s hat he wore, though that was little consolation to him. Sisty often used whatever weapon came to hand when in combat, unlike her compatriot Dinky, who brought his makeshift devices with him into battle. Currently, he was using cherry bombs to harangue the cop, and keep him from finding a route of escape while the three heroes taught him his lesson. Red Tornado, meanwhile, didn’t bother with any kind of armament, her own arms being strong enough for the task of battering a message into a man, blow by ferocious blow. When she heard his rib crack under the force of her gloved fist, she knew he’d likely had enough, and signaled for the Cyclone Kids to lay off. They posed next to her then, fists on hips, as she kicked the lawman in the rump, sending him from the alley into the snow-covered street face first.

“Next time you see a black kid!” yelled Dinky at the cop as he struggled to regain his footing.

“You walk the other way!” shouted Sisty, finishing the thought for her partner

The Red Tornado took one step forward, her cape billowing in the late-afternoon breeze behind her, and added in her deep, rough voice “Bigots ain’t welcome in Harlem.”

Taking one look over his shoulder at the trio, the patrolman began running away as best he could, given the state of his injured body and addled brains.

Dinky and Sisty giggled, and shared a hug then, watching him slink off into the snowy afternoon, while Red Tornado caught her breath leaning with her pot helmet pressed against the brick of the building in front of her. There were footsteps crunching through the snow coming toward the three heroes. She didn’t see who was approaching, but turned when she heard her daughter cry out a greeting of “Heya, Huey!”

Abigail took in a deep breath, and steeled herself for what she knew was about to come.

 

* * *

 

Huey found the Red Tornado and the Cyclone Kids hanging out in an alleyway off the side of St. Nicholas Avenue. The hero was leaning against a wall near some overturned trash cans, his helmet’s carved face turned away, his heated breaths visible in the chilled afternoon air. The girl Cyclone saw him first and gave out a hearty greeting, and gave him a hug around his midsection. The boy one boomed out a “How’s tricks?” as he bounded over through the thick snow. Huey wondered if their costumes provided much protection from the cold, but now wasn’t just the time to ask, as he had business with the big guy.

“Mister Tornado?” Huey tentatively asked, hoping nothing was awry in that moment.

The Tornado turned around, cape whirling from the speed of his motion, and in a jolly tone he said “Hyar, Hue! How’s the fam? Store doin alright? There’s not some robber I need ta beat on is there?”

“No sir,” Huey responded, brightening at his hero’s joyfulness, “but there _is_ some Tornado business for us to attend tonight. The Caperer is back, and now he’s got fire powers!”

“What, like a big gun or sumpin?” the champion reached up and scratched the top of his helmeted head.

This made Huey giggle. “No, ya silly, like he’s got the power to make fires! He says he’s gonna melt all the snow in town if we dun stop ‘im somehows. Eighty-sixed a snowman right in fronta me an’ my uncles!” He held out the letter he’d received from the curious courier a few minutes before.

Red Tornado took a look at the letter, and read it aloud to the two little ones, before crumpling it up and saying with a determined tone “Not to worry, my fine-feathered friend, we’re gonna make quick work o’ this Caperer tonight! All we gotta do is figger out how…”

“Weeelll,” Huey began, “if it’s anything like my story ‘The Day The Earth Caught Fire’, then he’s gotta build up his heat. What I wrote had him catching a little on fire, and then the fire got bigger and bigger until it was gonna burn up the whole planet!”

“How did we beat him in yer story, Hue?” asked the girl Cyclone, her eyes wide. The boy one was standing off to the side absentmindedly digging a finger inside his nose.

“Tornada punched ‘im so hard, he flew into the river, and it put him out before he could get hot enough to boil it away. But…”

“But what?” came the hulking hero’s voice from within his helmet.

“You had a special asbestos suit for gettin’ close enough ta punch ‘im in the first place. I don’t s’pose ya gots one lyin’ around in yer Tornado Den, do ya?”

He put his fist on the metal rim of his pot, like a man placing a hand on his chin in thought. “No, I don’t, Huey. And Mount Morris ain’t nowhere nears the river, either one of ‘em. Howdaya say we proceed here?”

“I’m thinkin’ we need Scribbly fer this one, Mister Tornado. He’s the one had the idea for the suit in the first place, maybe he can come up with something else for this time.”

“Alright,” said the Red Tornado, sweeping back his cape and stepping forward through the snow, “c’mon, kids, it’s already almost five and time’s a-wastin’.”

 

* * *

 

The Despatch offices were nearly empty when the four of them arrived, many of the newspapermen having either volunteered or been drafted into the armed forces by now. The secretary was nowhere to be found, so they deigned to let themselves in. Scribbly was alone in his office, drawing away like mad as usual, this time with a familiar scene.

“Hey, it’s the Caperer!” Huey called out from over his shoulder without even first announcing himself. This startled the other boy, who had been deep in concentration, and he broke his pencil on the paper, giving out a grownup curse as he did so. He turned in his swivel chair, saw his friend and the heroes standing there, and his face lit up.

“Did we get another note?” he asked excitedly, tossing the halves of pencil into a nearby wastebin with practiced alacrity.

“Yeah!” Replied Huey, matching Scribbly’s tone for enthusiasm. “And this time he says he’s gonna melt alla the snow in town if we can’t stop ‘im in th’ next couple hours!”

“Woah, how’s he gonna accomplish that one?” Scribbly leaned forward, elbows on his knees and chin in hands, looking up at his best friend.

“He’s got fire powers, like-”

“Like in ‘The Day The Earth Caught Fire’! I remember that one! But oh…” he focused his attention on the Red Tornado, “You ain’t got no asbestos suit for reals, do ya?”

The Tornado just shook his helmeted head, and Scribbly went to work thinking, while the Cyclones rummaged around in his desk drawers for the candy he kept there, finding several pieces of gum and not a few suckers for their trouble. After a few moments, he asked “Do we know where it’s gonna happen? The fight I mean?”

“Mount Morris Park” said the boy Cyclone, his mouth half-full of gum, and both Huey and his hero nodded in agreement.

“Well that’s perfect!” he replied happily, to the amazement of the others. “We better hurry, we’ve got just enough time!”

“Woah, woah, Scrib,” Red Tornado put his hands out in a slowing motion, “maybe you oughta share with the rest o’ the class before we go galavantin’ off?”

“Well it’s central, see? And nearby to us?” The others nodded, not understanding where he was going with this. “Don’t you guys get it? We need to put out a fire, _and the streets is covered in portable water_! It’s just like this morning, when Skeeter-”

Huey waved his hands quickly in a stifling motion. “Maybe it’s best you just go on with yer plan, Scrib?”

“Well, we get enough snow, and all at once, we throw it at ‘im! That oughta put out his flames _just_ long enough fer the Tornado to punch his lights out, and lickedy split, we’re home in time fer th’ candles!” Scribbly slapped his thighs, particularly pleased with himself.

“But how are we gonna throw that much snow all at the same time?” Huey asked. “There’s just five of us!”

“Again, it’s gotta be like… well, like this morning.” He nodded at Huey cryptically. “We gotta get a whole gang together. We’ll surround the Caperer, here, I’ll show ya!” and with that, he pulled out another pencil and a new sheet of paper and started sketching out his plan. “Each of us four kids takes a team to one corner, and we hide out in the dark. Then, when Red Tornado gives the signal, we cream the Caperer with the snowballs, all at once, and dampen his flames from all sides! So long as he hasn’t reached critical yet, it _should_ cool him just long enough for a good solid sock to th’ jaw, and then it’s lights out for ol’ Capey!”

“Scrib, yer a genius!” Huey shouted, his voice echoing in the small office space. A voice came from a few rooms away yelling “Keep it down in there, some of us is tryin’ ta work here!”

“There’s just one problem I’m seein’.” said Red Tornado, leaning onto the desk to look at Scribbly’s plan, “And that’s where’s we gonna get these teams yer talkin’ about? I don’t got time ta summon the Justice Society, an’ there’s only two Cyclone Kids.”

“That’s where me an’ Huey come in.” Scribbly replied, still drawing figures on his page of looseleaf. “While you three go make up as many snowballs as you can, we gotta go recruit alla the neighborhood kids to help. After all, if Caperer succeeds, they lose the snow just as much as we do!”

Huey took a long look at the plan, and gave some thorough thought, before asking “You’re _sure_ you dun have that asbestos suit?”

 

* * *

 

Huey’d had trouble for the first few places he tried, as he was either disbelieved outright or else told so-and-so couldn’t come out to play tonight, for chores or just because the kid wasn’t allowed out after dark. Buck Reynolds was next on his list, and despite his failures thus far, he was hopeful, as Buck was an inveterate wheeler and dealer. He was certain there was some bribe or other that could convince the boy to come to their aid tonight, he just hoped he was up to paying the price.

He rapped on the door to the apartment, and fortunately, Buck answered. Buck was a big kid, and his slightly chubby frame only made him seem bigger. Huey would never admit that he found him intimidating, but he did. At just eleven years old he was as sharp-witted as they came, and Huey knew he wasn’t going to help without some kind of ruthless bargaining.

Before Huey could begin his sales pitch, the other kid laughed rudely in his face, combing his fingers through unruly brown curls that stuck to his ears and forehead. “Oh hey, it’s the fibber! Whatcha got fer me tonight, Hue, is yer bad guy attackin’ Harlem again?”

Huey winced, this was going much worse than he anticipated. “Well, actually-”

Buck cut him off once again with a donkey-like guffaw. “Oh my god, I was jus’ joshin’ but yer serious, ain’t ya?! This is a gas!” He wiped several imaginary tears from his eyes, the other boy’s discomfort bringing him callous joy.

Huey was down, but not out. He straightened his back and spoke clearly, with the sort of tone he had heard Gus and Herman use when cajoling their gambling buddies into their various schemes. “Buck, listen, I dunno how to convince you it’s all real, but I ain’t got time to noways. Just bring yer winter togs an’ meet me at Mount Morris Park in a little under an hour, and you’ll _see_ it’s all for true!”

“What kinda game you pullin’, Hunkel?” the boy asked skeptically, an eyebrow raised.

“No game, serious! Red Tornado needs our help, an’ I ain’t got the time to argue wit’ you about it!” Huey wished he had a wristwatch, he had little idea what time it was, but he knew Buck was wasting too much with his stupidity.

“Tell ya what. I come, you gotta gimme sumpin good. I mean _real_ good.” Buck rubbed his fingers together in front of Huey’s nose, a sharkish grin on his round face.

Huey’s eyes widened in horror. “You don’t mean-”

“I do. Yer Dolph Camilli. I knows you got it, cause Nicky tol’ me Red traded ya for a Feller an’ a Riddle last year, and ain’t no self-respectin’ kid gonna part with a Dolph Camilli fer less’n a new bike in _this_ economy.”

Huey was crestfallen. “Howzabout a new bike then?” he didn’t have one, but he’d rather find one than give up his best baseball card.

Buck did not budge, and instead upped the ante in a way Huey had not anticipated. “Nope. You want me in on this gag o’ yers, you gimme that Dolph Camilli. _And_ that All-Star #3 I hear ya always gabbin’ on about.”

“This is highway robbery!” Huey threw up his hands in disgust and rage.

“Ye want me ta come, I better see both of ‘em on my desk tomorrow mornin’. Else I’ll tell _everybody_ Huey Hunkel’s a bad faith dealer _on top of_ a liar.”

“Fine.” Huey said through gritted teeth. “My Dolph Camilli for yer help tonight.”

“ _And_?”

He sighed deeply, defeated. “ _And_ my All-Star #3…”

 

* * *

 

After knocking on several doors and getting responses ranging from outright laughter to “he’s got chores to do”, Scribbly got to Jennifer Powers’ apartment. He hoped that she’d at least hear him out, being as friendly as she was and as amenable to spending time around him. Her mother answered the door, a woman with a tall beehive of bottle-blonde hair on her head, and an apron around her waist. She seemed surprised to see Scribbly there, as if she’d been expecting someone else.

“May I help you, young man?” she intoned kindly.

“Umm, yes, is Jennifer home? I’m Scribbly, we go to school together.”

The woman softened. “Well of _course_ you do, Scribbly, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name! I hear a lot about you, is it true you do those drawings for the Despatch?”

“Yes, it is, ma’am. I work there after school.” Scribbly blushed slightly, he hadn’t expected to be known, especially by an adult he’d never met before.

“Well, I’ll be, a newspaperman, at your age! I read the Sunday edition every week.”

“Th- thank you for your patronage, ma’am. Is Jennifer here?” he reiterated, “I have a favor to ask her.”

The woman slapped her hands on her apron, and flour puffed into the air. “Of course, where _are_ my manners?” She turned her head into the apartment and said in a raised voice, “Jennifer, you’ve a gentleman caller, and he’s _far_ more handsome than you’d led me to believe.”

Scribbly could feel his cheeks get hot at this compliment, and he stared down at his feet for the long moments while the two of them waited in silence for his classmate to arrive.

Jennifer came bounding into view, and pushed past her mother, saying “I can handle things from here, mom, thank you.” She was wearing a pink and white dress with ruffles around the arms and a pleated skirt, her curly red hair done up in a dozen or so white bows. Her mother gave the two of them a smiling look, and walked back into the home, leaving them alone in the doorway. “What’s up, Scribbly? You’ve never come over here before.” she said sweetly.

Scribbly was still red in the face, but he had business to attend, so he took a breath and looked up at the girl. “I need your help. I mean, the Red Tornado and me do. Remember how I told you about the Caperer at school today?” He waited for her to nod before continuing. “Well, he’s back tonight, and he says he’s gonna melt all the snow in town if we don’t stop him.”

She looked confused, as if this were the last thing she’d expected the boy to say to her on this occasion.

“See, we have this plan, and… well, we need more kids to pull it off. We gotta go to Mount Morris Park in an hour and help the Tornado and the Cyclone Kids fight this guy. It shouldn’t be dangerous, if that’s what you’re worried about…” he trailed off, unsure of what was going on in the girl’s head at that moment, as inscrutable as her face was.

“Scribbly Jibbet,” she began, “are you trying to get me to go to the park with you? In the middle of the night?”

The realization of what she meant hit him like a freight train. “No! I mean, yes, but no! Not like that! I really _do_ need your help to fight the Caperer tonight, or he really _is_ gonna melt all the snow with his fire powers!”

She seemed disappointed for some reason. “Oh.” she said simply, and looked back into the apartment behind her. “I mean, I guess I just thought-”

He cut her off, “We _could_ , if you wanted to. That is to say, not tonight, but on a night when a supervillain isn’t threatening the city. Ummm…” he shuffled his foot about on the wood flooring, “maybe you’d want to take in a picture?”

“And go to the soda fountain? Oh, Scribbly, I’d love to!” her face brightened, and her tone changed to one of pure joy.

“I have the day off Friday after next, maybe we could-”

“Yes, Scribbly, yes!” she bounced up and down on her bare feet.

“Okay, but I really need your help tonight, for real. Can you meet me at the park in, say, forty-five minutes or so? Bring your gloves.”

“Of course, Scrib, just let me make an excuse to my mother, and I’ll be there with bells on!”

 

* * *

 

Huey nervously rang the doorbell of the impressive two story home. The Baumgartner brownstone loomed overhead in the streetlights, looking every bit as menacing as the villain he needed help defeating. He smoothed out his hair and adjusted his oversized scarf, wishing he looked less crazy. The story he had to tell was outlandish, and he knew it, but maybe being less disheveled would aid in the cause. It did not help that Lucille was the beloved daughter of Rabbi Baumgartner, a man Huey knew very well. He had been present through most of Huey’s life, and although Rabbi Aarons was the one helping Huey prepare for his bar mitzvah, he still saw the kindly man almost every day.

He was about to ring the doorbell again, when the tall, dark haired man answered the door, he was dressed casually, but still wore his kippah and tallit. Huey stood up straight and tried not to look nervous.

“ _Shalom aleichem_ Mr. Hunkel!” He smiled warmly and stepped aside, “Care to come in for a moment? We’ve just finished supper.”

“ _Shalom_ Rabbi Baumgartner” Huey twisted the edge of his scarf anxiously “No thank you sir, but if i can, could I speak to Lucille?”

The genial man patted Huey’s shoulder with a smile “I’ll be right back, though I do insist you come in, you’ll freeze to death out there _tateleh_ ...” Rabbi Baumgartner led Huey into the foyer, where the smell of _sufganiyot_ fresh from the oil made his mouth water. He must have looked hungry, because the man laughed. “My Ruth is an amazing cook, would you like to try one?”

“Yes please!” Huey tried to not sound too eager, but the volume of his voice seemed to startle the home into a momentary silence. A beat passed and the conversation drifted back from the unseen dining room.

“ _Bubbeleh!_ ” He called, “You have a guest! Can you please bring him a _sufganiyah_ ?” There was another pause in the revelry, and then the clomping sounds of stockinged feet on polished wood. Lucille bounded out from a side room, her pale blue dress a little stained from her dinner and one white sock rolled down. Her hair, which had been combed, was a bit rustled and frizzy. Despite her quick gait she balanced a few fresh _sufganiyot_ on a white plate.

“Change Shamish Huey!” She beamed and held up the plate of still sizzling treats. “Watch out, still hot!” Despite the warning she picked one up and began to surreptitiously lick the powdered sugar from the donut.

“I’ll leave you kids alone okay?” Rabbi Baumgartner ruffled Huey’s pristine hair with a smile. “Have fun you two!” He then disappeared off into the side room where the music and laughter were coming from.

“Wanna sit down?” Lucille put the plate on a small glass-topped table. Several spare wooden chairs were placed by the door “The whole fam came up for Hanukkah! Even my _mume_ Rebekah!” Huey nodded, trying to follow her chatter while watching the grandfather clock ticking on in the foyer.  He grabbed a donut from the plate and bit down, the syrupy jam filling his mouth. They were good, no doubt about that, but Ma’s were the best in Harlem.

“Lucille? You remember this mornin’ when me and Scrib was talkin’ about the Caperer?” His nose involuntarily wrinkled as Lucille put her throughly licked donut back on the plate. She dusted her hands off and rested her chin in her palms “I ‘member, Skeeter totally got ya goat.”

“That’s not-” Huey trailed off, remembering a time when he had a good enough reputation that he didn’t have to deal with bratty girls. Sisty was one thing, she was his kin, but Lucille was definitely not.

“I needs to ask a favor” He placed his hands together on the table in an effort to gain some of his dignity back. “The Caperer, he’s gonna melt alla the snow in town if we don’t stop him.”

That got Lucille’s attention, her eyes widened and she sat up straight “That sounds awful! I just got a new sled!”

“Yeah, it is!” Huey was glad to finally have somebody on his side in all this. “See, he’s got these fire powers tonight, and we need ta help the Red Tornado beat him!”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Weeeelll, that _does_ sound like a pretty fun game, but I dun think I’m allowed-”

He did a double-take. She thought it was fake after all? “Game?! It’s not a game! It’s for real, I keep tellin’ you!”

“So how do we defeat this Capey guy, if he’s on fire?” Lucille picked up a _sufganiyah_ , not the one she’d licked, Huey noted, and took a bite. “They’re okay now!” she said brightly.

Doing his best to ignore this, he answered her question. “We gotta wait at the park for the Red Tornado to give the high sign, an’ then we throw snowballs at the guy until he’s not burning anymores!”

She seemed confused, munching on her donut. “Why we gonna throw snowballs at the Red Tornado?”

“No! Not the…” Huey slapped a hand to his face. “Listen carefully, Lucille, you’re one a’ the best pitchers we got, an’ I could really use you.”

“Okay, I’ll try to get away, but if I’m gonna play yer superhero game, you gotta do _me_ a favor in return.” She set down the half-eaten item on the plate, her face covered in jelly. “You and your friend Scribbly Jibbet gotta come over fer a tea party.”

“A what.” Huey said flatly.

She put a clearly sticky hand on her hip. “You heard me, I ain’t had no proper tea parties since Mabel Jenkins moved away, an’ me an’ my dollies is sick of just starin’ at each other every few days.”

Huey couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “We have to… have a tea party with you?”

“Oh, it’s not real tea, dun worry, I’m not allowed to use the stove yet.”

He rolled his eyes. “Wonderful…”

Unnoticing of the gesture, she responded, “It is! We’ll play your game tonight - I just gotta be home in time for the candles - then _my_ game the next time you can get Scribbly away from his office for a little while!”

Huey put his hands out in an imploring motion. “Lucille, it’s not a-” He stopped himself, and decided the better of it. “You know what? Fine. It’s a game. It’s all a game. Just make sure you’re at Mount Morris Park in half an hour, on the nose.”

“Will do!”

 

* * *

 

Eli Becker lived in an apartment above the Becker Dentistry office on 133rd, and Scribbly had to climb a flight of stairs up a narrow hall to reach his door. He felt strange being there, as usually a visit to the place meant a whole lot of pain. He knocked on the old cracked wood, and waited while he heard several voices shouting indistinctly from inside. Finally, Eli’s little brother Isaac answered the door, a bread roll in his hand. Isaac was 5 or 6 years old, Scribbly wasn’t sure exactly, and he seemed uninterested in their visitor.

Through a mouthful of bread, Isaac said after a few beats “Whaddaya want?”

“Er,” Scribbly began, suddenly unsure of himself, “is your brother here? I kinda need to talk to him about a… thing.”

The boy didn’t move, and instead asked “What thing?”

“I don’t… I don’t really have the time…” he tried to look past the small boy, but he closed the door to just a foot or so and said through the small opening, taking another bite of roll, “He’s busy.”

Scribbly put a hand in his pocket and rummaged around. “Look, I- I’ll give you a nickel if you just go get him right now.”

The boy closed the door to just a crack and said “Make it a quarter.”

Scribbly sighed and pulled out all the change in his pocket, doing a quick count, and holding it out for the child to see. “Look, all I got is 17 cents. I’ll give it you if ya go get your brother.”

The kid reached his empty hand out through the small crack in the doorway, and Scribbly put the change into his palm. He closed his fist around the dime, nickel, and two pennies then pulled it back in, slamming the door in Scribbly’s face.

He stood there a moment, wondering whether he got bamboozled, and whether he should start knocking again, when the door opened wide, and Eli stood there. He was a boy of Scribbly’s age, with blond hair and a white rib-knit shirt over the same slacks he’d worn to school that day. He was wearing shoes in the house, which Scribbly always found odd, but didn’t comment on in the moment.

“Hey Eli.” He said with a sigh of relief.

“What’s the news, Jibbet? ‘Saac says yer givin’ out change?”

“Your brother’s a budding extortionist, is what.” Scribbly said ruefully, before changing tack. “You think you can come out to the park tonight? There’s big happenings goin’ down, and I could _really_ use your help. Shouldn’t take more’n an hour or so.”

“Sure, Scrib, which park?” came his easy reply.

Scribbly was elated that this was suddenly going so well, and he said “Mount Morris. We gotta help Red Tornado stop the-”

“Yeah, whatever.” Eli interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll come play, but you gotta do my homework.”

“What?!” Scribbly was at the end of his rope, here. First his spending money, and now extra homework? All just to keep the Caperer from ruining things for _all_ the kids in town, Eli included. He nearly exploded.

“Yeah, I’m s’posed to be doin’ chores, so I’m gonna haveta get my brother to do ‘em, and that’s gonna take some bribery. If I’m payin’ him just to come play superheroes with you tonight, yer gonna be doin’ my homework, Jibbet. For a week.”

“A WEEK?!” Scribbly’s shout echoed down the long hall, and a woman’s voice from within the apartment yelled back “Keep it down out there, you kids, else you’ll get a whoopin’!”

Eli just stood there, as if negotiation was off the table, and after a minute or so, Scribbly, feeling the time crunch he was under, relented.

“Fine.” He said, “I’ll do yer homework. For a week. Just be there in half an hour, and don’t be late!” With that, he began running down the stairs and out of the building.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Eli said, closing the door.

 

* * *

 

Huey had dreaded his final stop from the first moment Scribbly’d had the plan. He knew this was the most likely place to find help, but he also knew it’d come at the most dear price of all. He walked up two flights of stairs, and down a hall, before settling at door 3F. He stood for too long a while as the blood drained from his face and his guts spilled downward into his shoes, until finally, at long last, knocking on the door which belonged to Skeeter O’Reilly.

After the sounds of yelling, what sounded like either a medium or large dog barking, and not a few crashes made Huey wonder if Skeeter was in a pilot program for delinquents living on their own. At last the door swung violently open, and an off-kilter Skeeter stood there, wobbling on one foot while a pug dog hopped and snurfled at his other leg. He twitched it gently, obviously trying not to kick the little pup while shooing it away at the same time. “Down, Gnasher, get- get back inside, I gotta-” he looked up at his visitor and stood, ignoring the canine for now. “Well, well, well, if it ain’t ol’ Stunkel Hunkel, here at my door. What, ya come back fer another lickin’? Er ya jus’ wanned ta gets it over wit’ an’ gimme yer pocket change now instead a’ tomorrow?”

Huey swallowed what little was left of his pride. “Listen, Skeet, I dun have a lotta time on my hands here, an’ I needs yer help.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and furrowed his brow, “What, like witcha homework? I ain’t too good at figures, Hunk-”

“No, no I need a lot a’ kids, an’ I need ‘em fast, an’ you an’ yer gang’s the last ones in school ain’t said no ta me yet tonight.” Huey quickly interrupted.

“Yeah, _yet_.”

There was an air of finality to Skeeter’s words that rankled Huey. He continued, “We got about half an hour before the Caperer-”

Skeeter looked annoyed at this. “Is this about that fib you an’ Jibber-Jabber was tellin’ at school today?” He raised a fist in the air at the smaller boy. “Dun make me take another nickel fer lyin’, Hunkel.”

Huey stomped his foot. “It’s NOT a lie, it’s _not a god-damned lie_ ya reprobate!” He began gesticulating wildly with his hands as he ranted. “I been tryin’ ta tell you an’ half the kids in the neighborhood all day, the Caperer is _real_ and we gotta help stop ‘im or else the consequences’ll be _catastrophic_ , ya hear?!”

Skeeter seemed suddenly impressed. “Wow, Hunkel, who knew you could curse? Mebbe dey’s hope fer you yet.”

Drawn to the noise, alongside the small plump pug a second dog began sniffing at Skeeter’s feet, it was an equally chubby dachshund wearing a spiked collar that matched Gnasher’s.

Huey’s shoulders slumped, and he looked at the floor. “Sorry, I just… I really need some help here, is all.”

Yet another canine, this one a bit bigger but scrappy and wirey, came trotting over, she looked like she was made of brillo pads.

“Dang it, Brutus, Trixie, get _outta-_ ” Skeeter cursed quietly and picked up Gnasher, giving him a gentle toss into the house, the two others followed after a long whistle from inside the dark, smokey apartment.

Skeeter shut the door, leaving them standing in the hallway. Huey smiled, he wished he could have a dog but there wasn’t enough room in their small apartment.

Maybe if Skeeter became a bit more friendly after this, he could come over and hang out with the pups.

“They’re cute-” He started, but Skeeter flicked out a finger, jabbing it into Huey’s chest. “Tell ya what: I’ll get Tubby an’ th’ boys together an meet youse at-”

“Mount Morris Park, half an hour.”

He nodded. “Fine, fine, Mount Morris in thirty minutes, but it’s strictly mercenary work.”

“Mercenary?” Huey raised an eyebrow. This was a word he was unfamiliar with.

“Yeah, like in them war comics, where the platoon needs a local but he ain’t gonna help fer jus’ nothin’? Consider me an’ my pals the locals.” A wry smile played on the boy’s face, clearly he felt rather clever at this.

Huey sighed. “What do ya want fer helpin, Skeeter? An’ _don’t_ say any a’ my baseball cards, I already gave my best away to Buck Reynolds fer _his_ assistance.”

Skeeter gave out a dismissive “pfft” of air from his lips. “No way, baseball cards is fer babies an’ bicycle spokes. You want me an’ _my_ gang, ya gotta pay cold, hard cash.”

“All I got is a dollar.” Huey lied, hoping that would be enough.

“No dice.” Skeeter made as if to open the door.

Huey pulled out the two bills his uncles had given him earlier in the day and held them out. “Fine! Two dollars! But ya better bring the whole hullabaloo.”

Skeeter looked disgusted. “I thought you said you only had _one_ dollar, Stunkel. Now ya gotta make it four fer fibbin’ again!”

“FOUR DOLLARS?!” Huey cried out, “Where the blazes am I s’posed to get two more dollars by tomorrow mornin’?”

The other boy shook his head twice. “Tomorrow nothin’. Ya gotta gimme the money when we get there. Oh, and one more thing.”

“Whaaat?” Huey threw up his hands.

Skeeter crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You gots ta get up in front a’ th’ whole school tomorrow at recess, an’ tell ‘em I was right, an’ yer a big fat liar.”

“Not a chance, O’Reilly!” Huey shouted.

“Then you can kiss me an’ my gang goodbye fer tonight, an’ whatever plans you got’re goin up in flames.”

Huey stood there for a long minute before answering finally, “Alright. I’ll do it. I’ll get you two more dollars-”

“Tonight.” Skeeter insisted.

“Yeah, tonight. An’ I’ll even get up in front a’ god an’ man alike tomorrow at recess an’ tell errbody I’m a…”

“Say it.”

“Big, fat, liar.”

Skeeter laughed uproariously for a solid 30 seconds before he waved Huey away, saying “Fine, fine, we’ll be there, half an hour, jus’ like ya wan’ us to. See ya in a bit, Stunkel.” and ripping open the door. Inside, wagging its tail excitedly, was a cocker spaniel, it’s light cream fur cascading down in luxurious waves.

“An’ my dogs ain’t _cute_!”

 

* * *

 

Back at the Hunkel Grocery, with 20 minutes to spare, Scribbly and Huey met up. Red Tornado was still there, standing with the Cyclone Kids in front of four red wagons piled high with fresh-packed snowballs. They quickly swapped information on who was coming and who wasn’t while Huey fumbled with the keys to the store, which had been closed for over an hour now.

“Whatcha doin’ there, Hue?” asked the Red Tornado, following the boy inside and to the register.

“Gotta get two dollars fer a bribe.” He replied matter-of-factly.

“Do you think yer Ma’d be okay with this?” the hero said sternly.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Huey grabbed out two dollar bills from the till and pocketed them before closing it again, “my uncles do it alla the time, an’ she never seems to catch on.”

“They _do_ , do they?” the Tornado muttered to himself.

Running back outside, Huey waited for Red to follow and then locked the door behind them. “All set,” he said, “let’s get goin’, everybody should be there about the same time we arrive.”

Sure enough, as they approached the entrance to the park, there stood a small crowd of kids. They’d all shown up as promised, even little Lucille, whom Huey hadn’t been so sure would take this seriously enough to come.

“Hiya, Scribbly.” Jennifer greeted the quintet.

“Holy Hell, he was tellin’ the truth!” said Georgie Peters, elbowing Skeeter in the side at the sight of the hero and his sidekicks.

“Yeah, well, he still better pay up, else we’re outta here, superheroes or no.” came his reply.

Buck Reynolds sidled up to the Red Tornado, and in a low, casual tone said “So yer in the Justice Society, I hear? I bet youse guys get lots of opportunities fer endorsements…”

Eli Becker gave a sheepish “I guess ya wasn’t jus’ playin’ a game, huh?” to Scribbly, who tried very hard not to say “I told ya so” in return.

“Still, ya gotta do my homework fer a week.” He added.

“Awright everybody!” announced Red Tornado as the several disparate conversations quieted down. “We got here four wagons an’ four kids ta lead ‘em. Scribbly, you take this’n” he indicated one of the carts full of snowballs, “an’ when the Caperer shows up, you circle aroun’ behind ‘im with it. Take these two” he pointed a hand each at Eli and Jennifer, “witcha. Cyclones, you two take this one and miss Lucille, an’ get on his right side. Huey, you get this enterprisin’ young fella” he pointed to Buck, “and the left, while you four” he swept a hand at Skeeter and his gang “stick right behind me. What’s gonna happen is, Caperer’s gonna start heatin’ up his flames, an’ I’m gonna make to start fightin’ ‘im. When I drop to the ground, youse all fire at once, an’ I’ll get it from there. Got it?” He looked around at each kid in turn, and they all nodded their understanding. “Good. Now, this guy oughta be here any minute, so be on yer toesies!”

“He already is!” shouted a man’s voice from the darkness a few dozen feet away in the park. Suddenly, a bluish-green light shone from atop a snow-covered rock, and as their eyes adjusted, the children could see-

“The Caperer!” Huey yelled and pointed, and so it was. There were brightly-colored flames licking up the front and sides of the man, almost as if he’d just lit a match on an alcohol-soaked suit. His red “C” and hangman’s hood were dead giveaways as to whom they were dealing with, despite the fire that now covered him. Between the deep verdance of the foliage around him and the stark white of the snow on the ground, his flames took on an almost green tinge there in the nighttime. Sparks shot from his fingertips, and waves of heat warped the air around him. The snow on the rock melted quickly, and soon that on the ground around it started to turn to slush and run off in rivulets of water through the previously pristine white ground all about.

“Awright kids, it’s time!” said the Red Tornado resolutely, stepping forward, “Youse all know what ta do, so do it!”

To the villain, he shouted in a stern, gruff brogue: “You ain’t gonna be ruinin’ Winter for no kids today, Caperer, fire powers or not! You best to just leave now, else yer gonna get a beatin’ yer never gonna fergit!”

“You’ll never stop me now, Red Tomato!” the Caperer responded in kind. “My heat is too hot, my fire too frightful, you’ll never be able to so much as _touch_ me, ‘less you brought asbestos gloves for the doin’!”

“I brought sumpin better, ya creep!” the hero went on as he advanced toward the villainous crook, “I brought an army!”

“What, these… these _children_ , with their little red wagons?!” the Caperer scoffed. “I’ll make quicker work o’ them than I will outta _you_ , Tornado!”

Scribbly, Eli and Jennifer were nearly in position in the trees behind the Caperer. Their feet were wet and cold from the slush he was creating out of the snow, but the heat coming from him was palpable, and they began to sweat beneath their winter coats and scarves. Scribbly worried they were too late, but was reassured that the snowballs were packed tightly enough that they were unlikely to melt in the short amount of time they had left before the plan went into action.

In his reverie, Scribbly missed a root that poked up out of the forest floor, and tripped, catching himself in time, but his glasses falling from his face. Trying not to make a sound, Jennifer and Eli knelt down in the watery snow and felt around for the small black pair of spectacles. Raising her hand high, Jennifer held up the frames victoriously, and Scribbly grasped them, putting the pair back on the bridge of his nose before heading into place.

The Cyclone Kids and Lucille were, in the meantime, pulling their wagon into position as the Tornado and Caperer dueled with words.

“What’s it like, being a superhero?” Lucille asked the girl Cyclone.

“I dunno, it’s pretty fun, we gets ta hit bad guys an’ solve puzzles an’ stuffs. What’s it like bein a big girl?” She asked back.

“It’s not so great. My best friend moved away, so now I just got my china dolls ta keep me company most days.” They waited for the signal. “Plus my papa’s a rabbi an’ we got a big house, so’s everybody thinks I’m all stuck up or sumpin’ an’ they dun wanna play tea party wit’ me.”

The girl Cyclone started to shout something out, but the boy one put his hand over her mouth and whispered in her ear.

“Oh yeah, I forgot.” she said.

“We’s here an’ we’s ready!” whispered the boy Cyclone to the other two.

Huey and Buck were in position, waiting for the signal, when Buck whispered to the other boy “So, about dat deal we made…”

Huey was annoyed, thinking to himself that he was about to be hustled for even more of his favored belongings, and gave a sharp “Yeah?” in reply.

“Weeelll… you can keep yer baseball card. On account a’ yer not bein’ a liar an’ all… I was jus’ wonderin’...” He shuffled his feet in the melting snow. “Could I still have the All-Star #3?”

Huey wasn’t sure of what to say. “I mean, yeah, uh…”

“Is jus’ dat ya tol’ me Red Tornado’s in it, an’ now I seen ‘im fer reals, I kinna wanna… y’know… fer a memento.”

Huey looked at the ground. “Sure, Buck. Sure.”

Just then, the Red Tornado shouted through his metallic helm, “Caperer! You ain’t gonna ruin nobody’s fun tonight! The snow is here to stay, and that’s all I gots to say!”

“No way!” responded the supervillain, the heat coming off of him warping the air and bending the wan light of the moonlit night. “This’ll be a heat wave to beat all, one for the record books, you hear?!”

“Oh, I hear ya!” said the hero, as he dropped to the ground. “Now kids!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

As one, the four groups of children began throwing their snowballs at the Caperer. Volley after volley, they lobbed their packed ice at the evildoer, and while at first their attacks seemed to have no effect, quickly the flames were squelched, and the heat died with them, the criminal’s power momentarily dampened by the force of their collective cooling. The assault lasted less than a minute before the supply of snow was exhausted, but it seemingly was enough, as the Red Tornado rose to his feet and rushed the Caperer, slamming into him bodily with enough force that the “Crack!” could be heard three blocks away. The two of them flew over Scribbly and his team, landing in the snow several feet distant, and the superhero began pummeling his quarry with aplomb.

Left, right, left, right, his gloved fists flew into the Caperer’s midsection, head, and arms, the man unable to _move_ much less fight back against this pounding deluge. The children cheered as he was pummeled with gale-force speed, whooping and hollering with joy while he got his comeuppance at long last.

But then, he was gone. In the blink of an eye, the Red Tornado was suddenly punching the soft snowy ground where he had been, fists slamming into nought but icy wet dirt. He stopped, looked around, and announced to the gathered crowd the obvious:

“He’s disappeared!”

A collective groan of disappointment went up from the circle of kids, but Huey rushed forward and stepped up on the rock where the Caperer had stood, and he said “Hey! We saved the snow! Who cares if ol’ Capey got away again, we’ll get ‘im next time! What matters is the plan worked, an’ Winter stays fer good ‘n’ all!”

To that, they all agreed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Let’s flip a coin to see who gets it?”

Sisty scoffed loudly, fork still speared through the final _rugelack_ on the steel platter, not budging an inch despite Huey’s own utensil dug into the same flaky pastry. “Like you gots a coin ta flip afta tonight.”

Gus and Herman laughed as Huey groaned, rescinding the treat to his sister “Dun remind me. ‘n Scribbly’s gotta do alla that homework!”

It had taken most of dinner to catch the family up on tonight’s adventure, which drew quite a few excited gasps and tearful gales of laughter. When Huey got to his future day of torment at the hands of Lucille, Sisty had paused with a mouthful of _kreplach_ , swallowing hard as she stared in wide-eyed awe.

“Lucille _Baumgartner_? Ain’t she the girl with tha fancy house and what has them china dolls?”

Huey’s face scrunched in disgust. “Yeahh, she gonna make Scrib ‘n me play dress up ‘an drink pretend tea.” He groaned and threw himself back into his chair while Ma and his uncles chuckled at his expense. Sisty was still awestruck though, and that made Huey pause “Sis, d’ya wanna go wit us?”

“No!” She shoved another _kreplach_ in her mouth, puffing out her freckled cheeks like a chipmunk, “‘course not!” She dragged her fork through her brussel sprouts and muttered, almost inaudibly “I hear Lucille uses real china cups for _her_ tea parties…”

Ma rose from her chair at the table to refill everyone's cup, coffee for the adults and cocoa for the kids “Well‘m sure Lucille’ll be happy to have ya over.”

Gus accepted the steaming mug with a smile, and he added his usual fixings before speaking again, “Think of it this way Huey, you ain’t disgraced no more!”

At this, Huey’s eyes lit up and he raised his arms in triumph “You’s right! I proved myself tonight an’ now the whole school knows I ain’t a fibber!”

Huey let out a loud yell of disgust when Ma hugged him tightly “My bee-utiful undisgraced laddie!”

Sisty stole several dumplings from his plate while he struggled. “You right Ma, Hueys a changed man, why, he’s so _cool_ now he ain’t gotta worry ‘bout _nothin_ ’!’”

 

* * *

 

Ma switched off the power in the kitchen, leaving the apartment dark and somber, the only light from the shamash still flickering proudly in the center of the menorah. Huey wondered how Ma managed to keep the candles lit through all eight days, but he supposed that was part of the miracle.

He had thoroughly scrubbed his hands after dinner, removing any trace of sticky sugar or oil from his fingertips. He had insisted on Sisty doing the same after he saw her sneakily swipe her finger over a fresh _sufganiyah_ , tasting the powdered confection before going in for another taste.

“I’ll give ya a real licking if I see ya doin’ that again!” He warned sternly, but he also knew Sisty did whatever she wanted and any threats he gave were almost always laughed away.

The curtains in the front window were taken down each year, leaving the space bare except for the small table where the menorah stood. It always looked so odd, seeing the empty window lonely and naked, but he also always got used to it. Tonight, the window gleamed from a fresh polishing and reflected the lights from the streetlamps and the snow below.

The snow that he and the neighborhood helped to save. Huey didn’t care anymore if some dumb schoolyard bullies thought he was a fibber - he knew the truth. He and Scribbly were heroes, they had saved the city.

After the songs had been sung and the prayers recited, Huey took the matchbook from Herman’s hands, the rollercoaster outlined on the front faded and worn, but the Coney Island logo still blazed across the front, never to be forgotten.

Full of pride and awe, Huey lit the third candle.


End file.
